When frost stiffens the ground and breath hangs white in the air, the hardy angler often turns to roach. Few fish are as obliging in the cold months, and few offer such satisfaction when the world is stripped bare by winter. The pursuit is simple, but its rewards are profound. The classic method is bread punch — tiny white discs of bread presented delicately on fine tackle. A dainty float, dotted with just enough shot to cock it, sits on the icy surface. The angler must watch closely, for the bites are often delicate — a tremor, a hesitation, before the float slides away. In such conditions, even the smallest Rutilus Redfin feels like a triumph. Winter fishing demands stoicism. Fingers grow numb, and banks feel otherworldly when the wind cuts across the water. Yet this starkness sharpens the senses. Every dip of the float feels magnified, every fish a prize wrested from the stillness of the season. There is also a beauty in these cold sessions. Bare trees reflected in glassy water, the

Each September, the Canal & River Trust hosts the UK’s largest fishing event for young people, the National Celebration of Young People & Fishing. The aim of the event is to bring together budding anglers from across the country for a weekend of friendly competition, skill-building, and – most important of all – fun! Unlike other angling events aimed at the younger generation, the ethos is less around winning and more about falling in love with fishing – encouraging young people aged 6 to 20 to enjoy the sport, improve in confidence and technique, and connect with peers. Having fished (and won an individual, and two team) Junior National Chapionships, I remember the buzz and thrill of competing when I was a youngster. Months of practice, trials to make the team, squad strategy, and hundreds of miles driven all around the country (chauffeured by our Mums and Dads) was compulsory if you wanted to stand a chance of winning. As amazing as it was to fish and win National Championships, it a

Coarse fish such as roach, perch, bream, and carp may appear ordinary at first glance, yet their anatomy reveals clever adaptations for survival in Britain’s waterways. One of the most intriguing features is the shape and position of their mouths. Species like chub have forward-facing mouths designed for snatching food drifting in the current, while bottom-feeders such as bream and tench possess downturned, extendable lips, perfectly engineered for sifting through mud and silt in search of worms, larvae, and detritus. Another fascinating aspect is their use of taste buds. Many coarse fish have sensory organs not only inside their mouths but in a multitude of other places on their anatomy. Carp, for instance, can use this superpower to detect flavours in incredibly dilute concentrations, giving them an edge in murky waters where sight is limited. Swim bladders also play a role beyond buoyancy control. In some species, the bladder is connected to the inner ear through tiny bones called t

The fishing rod rest, a seemingly simple yet essential tool in angling, has undergone a fascinating evolution in the UK. In its earliest form, anglers relied on natural features like forked sticks cut from hedgerows or branches, pushed into riverbanks. These rustic solutions were practical and easy to fashion on the spot, but they lacked durability and consistency; the last thing an angler wants is to be spending 20-minutes of valuable fishing time looking for a stick! By the 19th century, with the rise of recreational angling as a pastime, more refined rests began to appear. Crafted from wood or metal, they often had decorative finishes and were sold alongside other fishing tackle in specialist shops. These early commercial designs laid the groundwork for what would become a heavily evolved piece of kit. The mid-20th century saw a shift towards lightweight, portable designs. Aluminium, steel, and plastic components allowed anglers to carry collapsible or screw-in rests that suited bot

In an age of high-tech baits and exotic additives, there is something reassuringly timeless about a simple lump of breadflake. White, soft, and humble, it has tempted fish in British waters for generations. To watch it drift in the current, breaking down into a pale cloud that roach and chub cannot resist, is to witness a method that has endured not through fashion but through quiet effectiveness. Bread has always been the bait of the everyday angler. It was cheap, easy to come by, and versatile — pinched onto a hook as flake, rolled into punch for roach, or squeezed into paste for larger fish. Many of us recall raiding the breadbin before heading out, knowing that a few slices wrapped in foil were all that was needed for a day’s sport. The tactic in different forms can range from delicate to obscene. Fishing with bread using fine lines, small hooks, and lightweight floats can be deadly on a winter canal, involving striking that must be timed with precision in order to connect with the

There was a time when angling equipment was not mass-produced carbon fibre or precision-engineered alloys, but instead handmade with care and artistry. The split-cane rod, in particular, remains an icon of traditional coarse fishing, the unmistakable honey-coloured varnish gleaming in the morning sun. These rods were not only functional but beautiful – crafted by skilled hands, each with its own subtle character. To fish with cane is to embrace both the sport and its history. The centrepin reel, too, is a symbol of that heritage. Its design is simple: a drum revolving freely on its spindle, allowing the line to peel off naturally with the flow. There is no clutch, no gearing, no mechanical complexity to separate the angler from the water. Instead, control comes from touch, thumb against rim, and an instinct for timing that only develops with practice. To hear the steady purr of a centrepin as a fish runs downstream is to hear music from another age. For many anglers today, using cane a